Acceptance
by LCFC
Summary: Can Sam leave well alone?   Spoilers for Season 6 - particularly the last episode


It was raining; he could feel it cold against his skin, feel the trickle of water dripping down his cheek and into his mouth. It was all he could remember of that moment and he knew – just knew – that there should be so much more.

A year Dean said; a whole fucking year. He stared at the food congealing on his plate and then up at Bobby who was standing over him, eyes a little panicked, the most fear he had ever seen on the older man's face. He swallowed down dread along with his beans and smiled as hard as he could manage murmuring about how much he was enjoying his meal. He could see by the look on Bobby's face that the hunter didn't believe him for a minute and he wondered what he might have done to lose the carefully forged trust he had gained before throwing himself into the pit.

There were flashes; vampires, skin walkers, shape shifters, a baby crying. He made his head hurt by trying to recall more, his mouth dry with terror as he remembered his brother being turned, remembered that he had done nothing to stop it. He wanted to say how sorry he was but he couldn't. He didn't know the person in his memories, didn't recognise the person in his dreams and he could only carry on with his life as it was at present and try – fucking try – to forget his past.

He wondered why he couldn't remember hell. He knew Dean had known exactly what had happened to him. He knew Dean had suffered flashbacks of torture and being tortured. He couldn't remember anything, no torture, no pain, no suffering and he knew it wasn't right. Sometimes he would catch Dean staring at him, green eyes narrowed with concern, with an ill concealed unease. He was sure his brother had done something and he feared it was another deal. The thought of being without Dean again made him almost physically sick and he wanted to ask but he daren't, he just daren't.

They went about their work as usual. Hunting things, saving people, the family business. They stayed in run down motels and skanky houses, they ate at diners, he rode shotgun in the Impala. It was like going back in time and he sometimes wondered if the last four years had been a dream.

He asked questions constantly but Dean never answered.

"Forget about it Sammy," he said, pushing over a glass of jack Daniels, "doesn't matter. Be grateful you don't remember."

He would drink the whiskey and then some more and – eventually – he would forget just what he was asking. He was drunk as much as he was sober and he wondered if his brother's deal involved alcoholism in some way.

He didn't hook up with random chicks but he thought he might have; sometimes he had flashes of firm bodies beneath him, delicate hands moving over his stomach, chest and thighs. He would wake up horny and needing but he never did a damn thing about it. The guilt of what his 'soulless self' might have done whilst he was in the pit was almost unbearable but Dean would reassure him, touch him lightly on the shoulder and murmur that _it wasn't him _and that he should _forget it._

He felt like he was living a half life; bad memories of having no soul, no memories of his soul in the pit. He tried to act normally, tried to act the way Dean wanted him to but he wasn't the Sam that went into the pit but he wasn't the Sam who came out of it either. He was a person that even he didn't recognise and he could see Dean watching him sometimes, see his brother's worry and – often – distrust and he knew that he had to do something, anything to make things better.

"It is best you don't know Sam," Bobby said as he served up coffee, "you are better not knowing."

"Did Dean do something?" He could only voice his fear, tremulous and shaking, "was it a deal?"

"Of sorts," Bobby rubbed at his hair under the cap and sighed, "but there is nothing for you to concern yourself about boy. In fact – you shouldn't concern yourself about it at all – your brother did his best and that was all he could do."

"I'm not normal," Sam tried, his voice wavering, "I'm not me."

"You never were that normal idjit," Bobby risked a smile, genuine this time and Sam swallowed, something like laughter catching in his throat.

"What's going to happen to me?" He toyed with his coffee cup, eyes on the window, waiting for Dean to return from his beer run, "Bobby – what is going to happen to me?"

"Nothin if you quit asking and quit thinkin," Bobby sat down opposite him and his eyes were warm, gentle all of a sudden, "Apocalypse is over – you are both safe – angels and demons off your case. I know that you think you should worry about somethin but don't Sam – just don't – its over and you are both here – go with it."

He was on the porch when the Impala pulled up and he rose to his feet as Dean got out, six pack under one arm, chips under the other. Sam noted that his brother looked older, tired and he felt a stab of guilt in his gut as he went over and took the beer from his brother, slinging an arm around Dean's leather clad shoulder, a smile on his face that wasn't forced, that was just genuine.

"Sammy?" Dean said and his voice was hopeful.

"There's a Zombie marathon with our name on it on TV," he grinned at Dean's shocked expression, "we can watch that tonight and tomorrow – tomorrow you can take me to that bar you and Bobby are always mentioning. Thought we might have a little down time before we get back on the road."

Dean smiled then, warm, happy and – most of all – relieved.

"That's not like you Sammy," he said, quietly, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

"Yeah," he knew that there were things that he would never, ever find out but he also knew that it was time to stop thinking, to stop searching, to just go with it and accept, "but this is the new me Dean."

And his brother smiled through his tears and held him closer…

End


End file.
